


Dressed To The Nines

by shiningjedi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Autistic Coded Character, Autistic Mace Windu, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:38:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningjedi/pseuds/shiningjedi
Summary: There's a Senate party to go to.  Mace isn't happy about it.





	Dressed To The Nines

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt of the same name, for @finish-the-clone-wars on tumblr! Check them out if you want to; it's a pretty cool blog!

“I know you don’t like being out of your tunics, Master Windu, but you could at least try to put your tie on straight.”

Mace glared across the room at his colleague, who was already immaculately dressed in a powder blue, perfectly cut suit, trailing length of the coat just short enough to be classed as “acceptable” and just long enough to come across as “Jedi-ish,” but Obi-wan had meant it in his usual tone of friendly, gently poking humour, not as genuine jab at him.

At least, that’s how he thought he meant it. Sentient beings were damn confusing.

As he continued to glare, unmoving, he gave a patient, quiet sigh and walked over to him to fix the tie himself.

Mace resisted the urge to shove him away and instead concentrated on standing stock-still as his friend fixed his outfit for the Senatorial gala. He _hated_ being away from the war and his men’s reports, attending at a stupid party in upcity – literally – Coruscant for the benefit of the public eye when people were suffering and _dying_ out in the rest of the Galaxy.

And as much as he respected and trusted Obi-wan Kenobi, his friend and subordinate wasn’t who he would have chosen to watch his back and keep him company in a loud, bustling, preposterously-dressed-up assassination waiting to happen.

That was his Padawan’s role, had been since before the man facing had even been chosen as an apprentice himself.

He turned away and cursed as Obi-wan stepped back; what had happened to his dau- to Depa – was the last thing he wanted or needed to be concentrating on right now.

As if (in fact, most probably) sensing his rapidly spiralling train of thought, Obi-wan placed a comforting, grounding hand upon his arm, the filigree embroidery on the sleeve glinting in the low light of his inner quarters as he did so.

“What happened on Haruun Kal was no fault of your own,” he said quietly, and Mace wished the man would just shut up already. He appreciated the sentiment, he really did, but some things would just never become less painful or guilt-inducing with time.

“You need to give her time and space to heal,” he continued, “and you need to give it to yourself too.”

The retort _like you gave to yourself after Qui-gon was gutted right in front of you after rejecting you for a stranger?_ leapt up in his throat like vomit, but he pressed it down in favour the less cruel “Time and space? At an official Senate Dinner?,” garnering himself a suddenly tired chuckle from Obi-wan, who seemed willing enough to put aside his concerns in favour their shared common pastime of talking ill of politicians.

“It’s going to be a long night,” he agreed, and lead the way out of his rooms.

“Ready?”

They faced the waiting transport, Mace clasping his hands behind his back to stop himself picking at that stupid kriffing _satin emerald tie_ on top of its _stark white formal dress tunic_ and _cool sangria suit coat with quarter-electrum picking_.

He took a deep breath, shifting his arm slightly to reassure himself of the ready presence of his lightsaber clipped discreetly under his jacket, and sensed Obi-wan doing the same behind him. He shoved the mental image of his Padawan, fifteen years old, glistening ebony braids waterfalling over a green sari, smiling and laughing and calling him “papa” and pretending afterwards that he’d misheard her over the noise of the ballroom, and whole and safe and shining and _alive_ , out of his mind.

He’d visit her in the morning, or that night, even, if he had the energy and stamina when they got back.

He nodded across at Obi-wan, and together they stepped onto the shuttle.

“Ready.”


End file.
